


Much a ‘Do

by KillerKueen



Series: Rumbelle Showdown 2019 [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-21 16:17:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20696432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKueen/pseuds/KillerKueen
Summary: Belle isn’t sure what to make of Gold’s new haircut. He’s not sure what to make of her, period.Second round entry for the showdown





	Much a ‘Do

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: autumn; get away
> 
> Originally titled “Of Haircuts and Awkward Breakfast Conversation” but erm. That’s a bit much.

Belle ordered the french toast. Side of bacon. Iced tea—but only because the waitress warned her that the tea bags hadn’t been cycled through for actual, literal years. 

She opened her current paperback and settled into wait when the door opened.

Not minding the distraction (she had read this one before; the mystery lost, the enjoyment ever increasing), she looked up and saw Mr. Gold. Her hands tightened on the binding.

Landowner, business man, cool-as-a-glacier Mr. Gold. 

With a haircut. 

What used to be a curtain of faded brown was now short and sleek; his back to her, his dark coat a void against the silver, which was more pronounced than before. He gleamed in the light of the diner, there by the register.

She could see the back of his neck now, too. What an ordinary thing. She wondered if he was cold; he wasn’t wearing a scarf and the autumn air was growing more and more biting by the day.

“You’re staring, Miss French.”

Quite rudely too.

Gold turned his head so he was in profile, not looking at her, but making it clear he knew she was there, that she had his attention. He looked sharper somehow, like someone had taken a file to him as well as scissors. 

It was just a change. A small one, even, for all that Gold now looked like how a man in a suit was supposed to. Why, then, was that thought accompanied with such disappointment?

“I’m thinking of lost opportunities,” she said finally.

He turned to face her fully, eyebrow raised in question. Now that she was looking at him head on, she could admit it suited him. He was handsome despite himself, wearing a scowl and waiting for his coffee.

“Would you like to join me?” She asked. “You might not find a seat otherwise.”

Gold spared a glance for the empty diner, only a handful of other tables occupied.

“Yes,” he drawled, “quite a crowd today.”

“C’mon, let me buy you breakfast.”

He opened his mouth to decline—and at least it looked like he’d do so politely—when the waitress came out from the kitchen.

“Mr. Gold,” she greeted, “just put a pot on to brew. It’ll be a few minutes.”

He frowned, but didn’t say anything as she walked away to take the plate she was carrying to a table.

“The sooner you put an order in, the less awkward it’ll be that I get mine first,” Belle tried again.

His eyes slid back over, dark and—amused? Holding his attention at all was heady, but having his amusement was something else altogether.

“You’re the sort of person to eat in front of someone else?” he tsked. “That’s hardly proper etiquette.”

“For you, Mr. Gold? Undoubtedly.”

His lip twitched. Belle wouldn't consider it a victory until he gave her a full smile.

“What’s on your mind, dear?”

“I already told you.”

Gold’s finger tapped the counter next to him. “Perhaps this is a conversation best had at my shop.”

“Would you rather order to go?” Belle asked, willfully obtuse. “I just got comfortable but I don’t mind moving.”

He continued tap-tap-tapping, gaze steady.

“You’re staring, Mr. Gold.”

He said nothing. 

Belle sighed. Fine. “I want to have a friendly meal with you. If you don’t like it I won’t make you do it again.”

If he were less of a gentlemen Belle figured he’d roll his eyes. “You’re paying, hm?”

Belle didn’t hide her smile. She felt downright giddy as she watched him slide into the booth opposite her, back to the door.

He was close enough that she could better study the fine, even lines of his hair. And she could see his ears now, how they curled and pointed at the tip. It was so like a goblin, a fairy, a trickster imp. They complimented the already prominent cut of his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw.

“I felt like a change,” he said frowning under her continued scrutiny. “Is that so bad?” 

She shrugged, unrepentant. “Most people take a vacation.”

His only response what a grunt, and they were silent until the waitress wandered by. Gold made a reluctant order of eggs and toast. 

The silence stretched, spread out. It made itself welcome and lounged on the table in front of them.

The waitress returned. A white mug, set down, handle pointing to Gold’s right. Her footsteps echoed as she walked away.

Gold reached for the sugar. The white paper packets crinkled and he opened three, one by one, pouring them into his coffee. The metal spoon ting-ting-tinged softly against the rim of the mug.

Belle sipped her tea.

“She didn’t—“ Belle coughed, trying to brush the silence away like crumbs at a tea party. “—didn’t leave any cream.”

“I don’t like cream in my coffee.”

She made a polite noise. Her eyes again strayed to his ears, to his high cheekbones. His hair used to be long enough to tuck the swing of it behind his ears, though she’d never seen him do it. Long enough to pull it back into an elastic, surely. He’d have looked so sweet, so charming.

Gold cleared his throat.

“Sorry.” Belle looked down into her glass. The condensation that was slowly forming a ring at the bottom. “It looks nice, you know. Your change.”

“Why am I here, Miss French?” he asked quietly. His eyes weren’t quite narrowed, but there was the faintest splotch of red on his cheeks. Who could have guessed that a little staring was enough to make Gold blush?

“You’re the one that sat down.”

“You’re the one that insisted,” he shot back, unimpressed.

For all the property Gold owned in town, he did not own her cozy apartment above the library. For all the loans and credit he had given out, Belle didn’t owe him so much as a dime. It was not the wealth and power that he had accumulated that drew her eye, though, nor was it the haircut that drew it now. Not really.

She decided to be brave. 

“I wish I could have known what it felt like to run my hands through your hair,” she said into her iced tea. Okay, so mostly brave.

Gold paused, coffee cup hovering pre-sip. His mouth was free of coffee but he swallowed anyway. 

“Excuse me?”

“I’d be less surprised,” she decided, daring a glance up, “less sad, if I at least had the memory of it.”

Gold set his cup back on the table. He looked down into the black liquid. Belle watched, transfixed, as the tips of his ears turned pink—another perk to the haircut.

“Your—” he cleared his throat, and he sounded hoarse when he tried again. “Your lost opportunity, then?”

Belle shrugged. “It looked soft. I’ve always wondered if it—if when I—” she laughed, feeling her face heat. “Just—was it as soft as it looked?”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. “I don’t know,” he said finally.

“I suppose it’s hard to judge something like that yourself,” Belle nodded.

“French toast with bacon,” the waitress said, appearing at Belle’s elbow. “And wheat toast with eggs, sunny side up.” She dug the receipt out of her apron, placing it on the table. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Belle said.

Gold said nothing.

Belle started to cut her toast into bite-sized pieces. Gold nudged his on his plate. He stared, unseeing, at his eggs.

“I’ve shocked you,” Belle said. His blush hadn’t completely faded, and he was avoiding her eye. Her stomach clenched. She hadn’t meant to embarrass him. “You can forget I said anything—”

“No,” he said. “No, I...don’t want to do that.”

He sat back in his seat a little, frowning, toast forgotten. He rubbed the fingers of his hand together, as if an invisible cloth were between them.

“You’re honesty is refreshing, if a bit,” he coughed. Looked out the window, to the table, to his coffee, surely cold by now. “Misplaced.”

“Misplaced?” she asked, tilting her head.

“I’m doing that, too,” he said suddenly, desperately.

“Doing what?”

“Taking a vacation.” Gold waved his hand, as if looking for the right word in the air before him. “Getting away from it all, and all that nonsense.”

“You really must have needed a change, then.” 

He scoffed, but he looked at her, his eyes deep and dark.

“I wanted—I need to be better. I don’t know how else to do it.”

Belle took a bite of her toast, waiting for him to explain. He didn’t. “Where are you going?” she prompted.

“Boston,” he said after a pause. “For my son’s wedding.”

Belle’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Son?”

He opened his mouth but paused as the waitress passed, having finished clearing a table of dirty plates. He waited until the door to the kitchen swung shut behind her, staring at his plate.

“I understand, I think, what you mean about lost opportunities,” he said in a low voice. His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips. “I guess...I would have liked it, too. Having a memory. Of your hands in my hair. You could have told me if it was soft.”

Belle swallowed, her throat dry. Something warm and pleasant—giddy, almost—was bubbling in her stomach. She reached out to take his hand, where it lay on the table.

They had missed one opportunity. They weren’t going to miss another.


End file.
